


Res Ipsa Loquitur

by ProbablyImpossible



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Law School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyImpossible/pseuds/ProbablyImpossible
Summary: “The thing speaks for itself.” That was the kind of bond the three of them had. Having been forged in the fires of stress, poverty, wild benders, library all-nighters, and panicked screaming, it was probably the strongest thing on earth.





	1. Introductions

_2 rooms for sublet - 1793 Portsmouth St._

_I'm renting a townhouse in Brewerytown and looking for housemates. Rent is $450/mo. plus utilities. The rooms are already furnished, and there's a shared kitchen, living room, and basement (see photos). Location is within walking distance of Justinian Law School. Please email me at akennedy@gmail.com if interested._

* * *

Will circled around the block a third time, hoping irrationally that a spot had opened up in the two minutes since he'd last passed by, but no such luck. Grumbling under his breath, he drove on to the next street over and began the delicate process of squeezing into what was likely the only parking spot left in the whole damn neighborhood. These were sad times indeed when a man couldn't even park in front of his own house. He hoped the handicap tag hanging from his rearview mirror at least made someone feel bad.

He went around to the back of the car, opened the trunk, hefted one of the cardboard boxes that held all his worldly possessions, and began the walk back towards the house. It was unremarkable as far as townhouses went; three stories, brick, with white-ish trim around the windows and a few concrete steps leading up to the front door. The space on the left side of the house which would normally feature another townhouse had instead gone to seed and become a rectangle of scraggly grass. A black cat emerged from the grass, stared at him for a few seconds, then padded off down the sidewalk.

Will shifted the box over to his left arm and rang the doorbell. Within a few minutes, he was greeted by the smiling face of Archie Kennedy. "Hey. Didn't I give you a key?"

"You did," Will said, stepping into the house. "I just didn't want to surprise you."

"Well, aren't you considerate." Archie motioned with his head towards the stairs. "Our new friend Horatio showed up at three a.m. yesterday and just let himself in. That fucked me up. Do you need any help moving?"

Will hated to impose, but… "I'd appreciate it. I had to park down the block."

Archie shook his head. "All the undergrads are coming in today, too. Sorry, but it seems we're surrounded by ankle-biters."

Will had to laugh at that. "No offense, but you look like you can't be long out of undergrad yourself."

"I took a gap year," Archie said defensively. He waited for Will to set his box down on the floor before following him out the door and towards his car. "You're new to Philly too, right? I'll have to show you and Horatio around sometime. As implied by the name of the neighborhood, there are some really good places for imbibing alcohol. Including, hilariously, a pub called Crime and Punishment. The beer's actually pretty good. If you like beer. You look like you do."

Will smiled. He'd only met Archie once before, when he'd come down from Allentown to look at the house, but the younger man was so friendly it felt like they already knew each other well. "I do. I'm looking forward to it."

Together, it took the two of them about fifteen minutes to get the rest of Will's boxes and suitcases into his room on the ground floor. On their last trip, Archie found himself carrying a bulky blue and grey camouflage bag. "Are you in the army?"

"Navy," Will said, still disappointed by the average civilian's remarkable inability to tell the difference between blue and brown. "And not anymore."

"Ah." Archie must have sensed that he didn't want to talk about it, and so let the subject go. He offered to help Will unpack, too, but Will refused. He enjoyed simple activities like cleaning and organizing; he could let his body do the work and drift, not having to think about anything. For now, he set the last box down on the floor of his room and took a look around. There was a bed in the corner, a desk, a small closet, a set of wooden drawers, and a window, which looked out on a tiny patch of yard and the back of the house on the next street down. It was small, but honestly could have been a lot worse considering his shoestring budget. And a man who'd lived in a floating tin can for years didn't need a lot of space, anyway.

He began his unpacking by opening up the box that held his new (well, to him, anyway) textbooks and lining them up on top of the drawers. They were all three inches thick and were the most lawyerly-looking things he had ever seen. They seemed ridiculous and out of place among his piles of sweatpants and action movies. His sisters had even 'oohed' and 'aahed' when they'd come in the mail, probably more impressed by the books and the idea of 'Will the fancy-pants lawyer' than they'd ever been by their real, actual brother. He sighed, and hoped, not for the first time, that he knew what he was doing.

* * *

Horatio stared up at the ceiling. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he whispered, then flopped over and buried his face in his pillow.

Earlier that morning, he'd walked the fifteen minutes to Justinian's campus, and after taking a look around had entered the Barnes and Noble to pick up his textbooks. Unfortunately, he'd failed to anticipate his books being large enough to require a two-foot-long cardboard box, and heavy enough to crush a human being if dropped from the right height. By the time he got them back to the house, his pale, pathetic noodle-arms were shaking with exhaustion; even his feet were sore from pounding the sidewalk. He wanted to start on his first assignments, but he didn't think he could pick up his Torts book to read it. So he was taking a break.

Which really meant he was working himself into a frenzy of nerves because he wasn't doing anything and law school started tomorrow and oh god oh lord jesus he wasn't ready.

At this rate he would go to class and end up in the wrong room, or get there too late, or too early, or be underdressed, or overdressed, and he would look unprepared, he would BE unprepared, and he would be cold-called, and he wouldn't know the answer, and everyone would look at him and think he was an idiot, and how did he even get into this school anyway… The thoughts went on and on and on. He should have spent some time working instead of coming straight from undergrad. He had a STEM degree, who in their right mind went to law school with a STEM degree? Patent lawyers, he reminded himself. That was what he was going to become, what he was here for. He could do it. He had to. Or he would be a laughing stock.

Maybe he would be a laughing stock either way…

He groaned and rolled out of the bed, his arms still flopping uselessly. He crawled over to where he'd left his books, still in their box, and pulled out the huge blue volume of Torts cases. He dragged the book up to the desk and flipped open his laptop, wiggled his fingers to bring some life back into his hands, and got down to work.

About two minutes later, there was a knock at his door. Scowling furiously at the interruption, he stomped over to the door and swung it open.

He'd been expecting to see Archie Kennedy, but instead found himself looking at a totally unfamiliar face. It was a man, older than himself by at least a couple of years, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He wore a pair of rumpled jeans and a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hand was extended. "Hi," he said, looking a little cautious. "Sorry to disturb. I'm Will Bush; I've got the room downstairs."

Horatio shook the hand and found himself locked in a rough, vise-like grip which he feared would snap his own twiggy digits in half. "Hhhhi," he wheezed. "I'm- I'm Horatio. Hornblower."

"Nice to meet you." Bush let go of his hand and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. Thankfully, he hadn't commented on Horatio's ridiculous name. That didn't mean he wasn't laughing at it in his head, though. "You're a 1L, too, right?" he said conversationally.

Horatio cleared his throat. "...Yes."

"...Cool." Bush, for some reason, seemed determined to make small talk. "Where are you from?"

"Newark."

"Ah. So do you think you'll practice in New Jersey, or New York? Or are you planning on staying in Philadelphia?"

Horatio shrugged.

"Which section are you in?"

"Two."

"So am I." Bush smiled. "And I think Archie is, too."

"..."

"I mean, that's convenient. We have all the same classes. We could form a study group and never have to leave the house."

Horatio frowned. "Sorry, but I don't study in… groups."

Bush blinked. "...Ah. Okay." He stood silently for a moment, looking like he was trying to find a way to save the conversation, but ultimately came up with nothing. "Well then. Uh, good meeting you. I'll let you get back to…?"

"Torts."

"Right." Bush nodded, gave him one last glance, and headed down the stairs. Horatio noticed he seemed to be going very carefully, his burly hand gripping the rail. He wondered briefly what that was all about, but concluded that the stairs were narrow and steep, so caution was likely warranted. He was sure he'd fall up/down them eventually, probably with a cup of coffee in his hand. Maybe that was how he'd start his first day.

Feeling distinctly gloomy, he returned to his work.  _Brown v. Kendall… two dogs fighting, struck with a stick…_

He'd made a terrible first impression.

…  _one of the first appearances in American jurisprudence…_

At least it hadn't been worse than the one he'd made on Archie. Who'd thought he was an intruder and almost murdered him with a bike lock.

…  _reasonable person standard…_

Why did he always have to be so awkward?

_...whether the trial court was correct in instructing the jury that the defendant… or whether the trial court erred in… whether…_

He groaned and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't absorbing anything. And his housemates already disliked him.

So, basically, things were going just as expected.

* * *

Archie made his way to his own room on the second floor, determined to do at least some homework. He picked up his Contracts book, stared at it, then put it back down and flopped onto his bed, where he pulled out his phone and allowed himself to be sucked into an endless vortex of terrible theatre memes.

_What am I doing here?_  he wondered, briefly, though of course he knew the answer. He was going to be a lawyer because his father was a lawyer, and his mother was a lawyer, and his two older brothers were lawyers, and the massive firm of Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy & Kennedy had decided its name needed to be even worse. It was hard to argue with a family that had made millions in New York BigLaw when all he'd managed to do on his own was wind up living in his Ford Taurus and working at the shittiest Olive Garden in LA.

The memory of his wildly unsuccessful "gap year" brought a twinge of shame with it, which he suppressed and put out of his mind immediately. He knew what could happen if he started down that path. At least he wasn't nervous about beginning his legal education. He liked reading, liked writing, and was fine with public speaking and even knew how to shake hands while holding both a wine glass and a plate of hors d'oeuvres at networking events. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

As if on cue, his phone started ringing, his dad's number showing up on the screen. He sighed and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Hey kid," said the voice of Harlan Robert Kennedy IV, Esquire. "I just wanted to wish you luck for tomorrow. Sorry I wasn't around to move you in, but the Xarelto case was just blowing up…"

"Yeah, sure," Archie said, not wanting to hear one more goddamn word about the Xarelto case. "Didn't stop you from furnishing the whole house, though. What am I supposed to do with all these desks and beds when I move out?"

"I don't know, leave 'em for the landlord," his dad said dismissively. "You wouldn't let me get you an apartment or pay your tuition, so I figured the least I could do was spice up your real estate. And you got housemates right away, right? You like 'em so far?"

"Yeah, they seem fine." In fact, Will seemed self-sufficient and unobtrusive, and Horatio was clearly the hermit type who never left his room except to get coffee, so Archie got the feeling he himself would end up the most annoying of the bunch. He hoped they didn't mind loud music.

"That's good." He could almost hear his dad grinning through the phone. "Just remember to have fun. But not too much fun. Justinian's not too tough, but it'll still be a slog, especially your first year. Don't spend too much time on your outlines, start doing practice exams early. And don't listen to your professors when they tell you they're teaching you to 'think like a lawyer;' that's bullcrap. The only thing that's important is the exam."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yeah. We're all proud of you, son."

Archie's breath caught in his throat. He hated talking to his family. It was because he hated how, even after everything, he was still afraid of disappointing them. And so he would never let on that this wasn't what he wanted. "Thanks, Dad," he muttered. "Listen, I gotta go. Have to get back to studying."

"Right. Go get 'em."

The call over, Archie got up out of bed and went downstairs. He needed to go somewhere and do something. He didn't know what it was yet, but he got the feeling it would probably involve some alcohol and not any Contracts homework.

* * *

That night found the three residents of 1793 Portsmouth St. lying awake, staring up at their respective ceilings. Tomorrow, they would be embarking together on an arduous three-year mission which would either end in riches and a fulfilling career, or a massive flaming ball of disaster and student debt. Not a single one of them knew where it would take them. But they all dreaded it immensely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, please don't judge me for setting this AU in America... I had planned on doing a lot of research on British law schools for this, but after starting I actually discovered some things that would change the character dynamics I had in mind. For example, in England you can go to law school right after high school, so the degree you get is a bachelor's. This would make the characters younger than I wanted and would also make the age gap between Bush and the others less commonplace. And I just know a lot more about American law, so. My apologies.
> 
> Anyway, this fic came about because I saw a post on Tumblr somewhere asking for an AU where the HH characters were lawyers or businessmen... this is close enough, right?


	2. Welcome to Purgatory

Horatio woke up the next morning at seven; he'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep. The instant he remembered what was going to happen today, he felt queasy. He groaned and rolled out of bed, willing his stomach to calm down. Getting sick would be the absolute worst way to begin his law school career.

He quietly left his room and sought out the bathroom on the second floor. Finding it unoccupied, he went inside and took a cold shower. The water stinging his skin was enough to wake him up a little, but did absolutely nothing for his nerves.

He was still drying off when he smelled it: coffee, coming from downstairs. Feeling suddenly desperate, he jumped back into his t-shirt and boxers and hurried down the stairs before he could stop himself.

When he reached the kitchen, he found Will, standing in front of the oven with a frying pan in his hand. He was wearing a Navy football t-shirt, baggy sweatpants, and thick socks, and he seemed faintly surprised to see Horatio. "Oh. Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you…?"

"No," Horatio said, eyeing a coffee maker in the corner. Judging by the smell, it was in the process of brewing a pot of Starbucks Sumatra dark roast.

Will poked at the frying pan, which Horatio could now see contained strips of bacon. "Well, since you're here, how do you like your eggs?"

"What?"

"Eggs. It's everyone's first day, so I thought I'd make breakfast." Will suddenly looked worried. "I'm sorry, is that weird?"

It was, a little, but only because Horatio was having a hard time reconciling the older man's rugged aspect with this mom-like behavior. "Um, no, it's just…"

"Do you not like eggs? I think I can do toast. It's been a while."

"No, eggs are fine." Horatio realized his stomach was feeling a little better, so maybe he'd actually be able eat them. "Scrambled."

"Got it." Will slid the bacon off the frying pan and onto a nearby plate, then crossed over to the refrigerator and returned with a carton of eggs. "You're lucky I decided to go grocery shopping yesterday; there was nothing in there except taquitos and provolone cheese."

Both of those items must have belonged to Archie. Horatio had only brought a box of ramen noodles to get him through the first week.

Will cracked two eggs into the frying pan. Meanwhile, Horatio's attention was drawn irresistibly back to the coffee pot. The smell was torturing him, but it was Will's coffee; it would be rude for him to just go over and get some without being invited to do so. And if he asked and it turned out Will hadn't actually been intending on sharing the coffee, then Will would have to share anyway to avoid being rude himself, and then he'd be annoyed at Horatio. And even if Will had been intending on sharing the coffee all along, if Horatio asked for some, he'd feel like a beggar, dependant on the charity of others because he hadn't had enough foresight to buy his own coffee. Thus stuck, Horatio settled for directing intense gazes at the back of Will's head, hoping that would somehow telepathically communicate his desperation.

What it actually ended up doing was to cause Will to turn around, glance at him for a few seconds, raise an eyebrow, look like he was going to say something but think better of it, then turn back to the eggs.

While Horatio cursed himself, there were a series of soft thumps on the stairs. A few seconds later, Archie drifted into the kitchen, wearing a t-shirt, pajama shorts, and, strangely, a bathrobe. "G'morning," he mumbled, heading straight for the refrigerator. He was clearly surprised when he opened the door to find it full of food. "...Where are the taquitos?"

Will turned on him in a flash. " _ **No.**_ "

Archie looked blearily up at him, half a sneer on his lips. "I suppose you're making everyone a wholesome balanced breakfast, Mr. Bush?"

"As a matter of fact..."

"Oh god."

"Horatio, your eggs are ready," Will said, unruffled. "And there's coffee, too, if anyone wants some."

Archie nodded appreciatively. "What kind of coffee is-"

"YES I WOULD LIKE SOME VERY MUCH THANK YOU." Horatio bounded across the room and snatched one of his largest mugs from the cabinet. The sweet ambrosia was burning its way down his throat within half a second. He closed his eyes, smiling in utter bliss. Feeling the warm liquid settle into his empty stomach was almost enough to make him forget that he'd be starting law school in less than an hour.

…

...Shit.

"A- Actually, maybe forget the eggs," he said, feeling a flash of stomach pain. "Sorry." He turned and dashed up the stairs before either of the others could say anything, then closed the door to his room and leaned back against it, taking rapid, shallow breaths.

He had to get dressed, and he needed time to go over his notes. Which room was his first class in? Which class was his first class?! Oh god… Torts. Yeah. Torts was first. Okay.

He willed himself to calm down. He could do this. He could do this…

He suddenly realized his coffee mug was still in his hand. Somehow, he'd managed to avoid spilling it in his hasty retreat. Feeling an odd sense of pride, he took a long gulp and set his jaw.

He could survive this. At least.

Probably.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Will stood by the stove, looking slightly stunned. "...Is he okay?"

"No idea." Archie shrugged. The puzzle that was his strange housemate seemed to be of the three-dimensional, 10,000-piece variety, and he had neither the time nor the patience to bother trying to put that mess together. "I'll knock on his door before we leave." He paused. "Oh, I was gonna say it would make sense for us to go to class together, since we all have the same schedule. Is that okay with you?"

"I was going to suggest the same thing," Will said. He glanced down at the frying pan in his hand, full of abandoned egg. He extended it towards Archie. "Here you go."

Archie shook his head. "I don't like eggs."

"... Nonsense. You just haven't tried  _my_ eggs."

"You didn't do anything except scramble them - "

"Take the damn eggs," Will said, forcefully. "Are you really going to leave me standing around, like an idiot, holding a frying pan full of eggs? Just because you 'don't like' them? You wastrel."

Archie grinned. This seemed like a good opportunity to scrape the rust off of his arguing skills. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the one wasting those eggs; he just went up the stairs. Second of all, you made me an offer; I don't have to accept it. And finally, you're definitely standing around with a frying pan full of eggs, but if you happen to look like an idiot, well that sounds like a personal problem."

Will frowned, raising an eyebrow. His expression was incredibly severe. For a couple of tense seconds, Archie thought he might be taking the joke seriously. Then a scrunched-up smile broke through the facade before being immediately subdued. "You seem to have read the first page of our Contracts textbook. Congratulations. However, you misunderstand the intricacies of the situation."

Archie was so glad he was playing along. He leaned on the kitchen counter. "Alright, counselor, explain it to me."

Will set the frying pan down on the burner and rolled his shoulders. "Now, you see, it's like this…"

* * *

Horatio gave himself a final once-over in the mirror; his brown curls only sported a few utterly untamable cowlicks this morning, and the hideous dark circles under his eyes weren't quite as noticeable if he held his head at a slight upward angle.

He picked up his backpack, which contained only three of his books and yet weighed about the same as a sack of bowling balls. In swinging it over his shoulder, the weight of the bag gave it enough momentum to send him stumbling into the wall, smacking his head. Wincing, he glanced over at the mirror again; now his forehead had a large red splotch on it, which stood out especially well against his mayonnaise-pale skin. And he was still feeling nauseous.

He shook his head and pushed through the door, then headed downstairs. Puzzlingly, he could hear raised voices coming from the kitchen. Upon reaching the first floor, he paused and looked around for the source.

What he eventually saw was Archie and Will, both still in their sleepwear, standing in the middle of the room gesticulating at each other, while a thin plume of smoke rose up from the frying pan which had once contained eggs.

"...Ah, but clearly the canon of construction is in my favor," Archie was saying, twirling the sash of his bathrobe.

"I object!" Will replied, pounding the counter. "That canon is  _nolle prossed_  by the doctrine of respondeat superior!"

Archie suddenly noticed Horatio, and the terror-struck look on his face. "...Relax, we're bull-shitting," he said.

Will's eyes widened when he caught sight of the frying pan. He let out an expletive Horatio wouldn't feel comfortable repeating even in his own mind, then snatched the pan from the burner and poured its charred contents into the sink. After spraying some water over them, his face took on a disappointed look. "...How do you feel about toast?" he asked Archie.

Horatio cleared his throat, and the two of them turned to look at him. He tried to look aloof, but felt horribly awkward. "Our first class starts in twenty minutes. It takes fifteen minutes to get there."

There was a moment or two of silence while Will and Archie processed this information. Horatio in the meantime turned and headed for the front door. He could hear thumping and shouting behind him as he left the house, and it brought a thin-lipped smile to his face. In certain moods, he could take great pleasure from the suffering of others, if only because it briefly outstripped his own. There was a small comfort in knowing that they were all going to be miserable today.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Horatio was sitting in a medium-sized lecture hall, filled with the sounds of fellow students talking and laughing amongst themselves. He was stiff-backed in his chair, his bony fingers folded on the surface of the desk in front of him. The room was filling up quickly, but so far no one had chosen to sit next to him. While he didn't like to think he was being rejected, he also hoped it stayed that way; he was already eyeing the chair on his left as potential space for his enormous backpack.

There was movement in his field of vision, and he looked up with a start. There was a girl standing next to him, her hand on the back of the empty chair. "Is anyone sitting here?"

"N- No," Horatio mumbled, awestruck. She gave the immediate impression of both grace and strength; her clothes looked professional and expensive, and she carried herself with a natural confidence that spoke of a life lived among important people, doing important things. Even though her face was too long to be considered beautiful, her tanned skin and light brown, almost blonde hair were a hell of a lot nicer to look at than his backpack.

She sat down without another word to him, arranging her books on the desk. There was a faint buzzing sound, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "Lo siento, Mateo," she said, "estoy ocupado. Si. Por supuesto que extraño a Ancón. ...Y tu? Ehh… Okay, adiós." She hung up the phone with a roll of her eyes, then placed it back in her pocket.

Horatio knew it was rude to listen in on others' conversations, but… "You've been to Panama?"

Luckily, the girl seemed impressed rather than offended. "Yeah. I worked with a free clinic down there for a year. I just got back a couple of weeks ago. There was a nasty flu strain going around when I left, so I asked Mateo to keep me updated." She held out her hand with a smile. "Barbara Wellesly. Don't worry, I'm not contagious."

Horatio shook her hand; she had a surprisingly firm grip. "Horatio. Hornblower."

"Pfft! ...Sorry." Barbara was trying very hard not to laugh, but wasn't really succeeding. "Do you … play any instruments?"

Horatio frowned. Any feelings of attraction he might have felt for her had evaporated. "No."

Barbara looked like she was going to make another joke about his name, possibly a less polite one, when Archie appeared at the end of the aisle and squeezed behind her. "Thanks for abandoning us, you jerk," he said, sliding into the seat on Horatio's right.

Having only known him for two days, Horatio didn't feel particularly stung by the remark. "I wasn't about to be late," he muttered.

Archie only grinned. "Harsh."

Will followed a few steps behind him, taking the next seat over. "That's the last time I do anything nice for you," he hissed at Archie.

"I didn't even want the goddamn eggs!"

The lecture hall was suddenly filled with the ear-splitting sound of microphone feedback. Horatio winced and looked towards the podium. There were two men standing at the front of the room, one white-haired and bent, the other either in his late twenties or early thirties. The younger man had messy brown hair and a pockmarked face; he was holding the small round end of a microphone, the cord of which was attached to the older man's hip. "I think that should work for ya now," he said, his voice being picked up by the mic. He gave it a couple of taps with his finger, sending loud 'thumps' echoing around the room.

"Stop that, Styles!" the old man snapped. He snatched back the end of the mic and fastened it to the lapel of his deep blue suit jacket, then bent over and dissolved into a fit of coughing. Styles stood back cautiously until the old man straightened and waved him away. Clearing his throat, he shuffled over to the podium and faced the students. "Good morning," he said, his tremulous voice revealing the reason for the mic. "I am Professor Keene. I have been told by the dean to say a few words, since this is your very first class as 1Ls. I hate speeches, so I will be brief." His sharp eyes swept around the room. "This will be a rigorous and challenging experience for all of you. Prepare to kiss whatever social lives you nerds may have goodbye. The fires of law school will burn you clean of your idiocy and preconceived notions, hopefully leaving you strong enough to face the eternal lake of sulfur that is legal practice. Work hard, use your head, and you should manage to survive. Welcome to Justinian."

Archie leaned over towards Horatio. "More like welcome to purgatory," he said under his breath.

Professor Keene coughed. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let's get started. You should all have a copy of my syllabus, which we will go over now. I teach this class according to the Socratic method…"

Horatio rummaged in his backpack for his Torts notebook, hastening to find a pen while trying to listen to what Keene was saying. In his clumsiness, he dropped his pen down to the row of seats in front of him. He gulped and tried to reach it with his foot, but it was just out of range.

Before he could work up the courage to get the attention of the person in front of him, the chair turned, and a hand reached out to grasp the pen. Horatio stared; the back of the hand was covered by a tattoo of a skull. He raised his head to look at the face of the man the hand belonged to, and he found himself looking into icy eyes, filled with inexplicable malice. The man looked to be several years older than him, with stringy blonde hair and a sneer on his lips. 'You want this?' he mouthed, holding up the pen.

Horatio reached out, and the man drew his hand back, causing Horatio's fingers to grasp at empty air. The man grinned; the expression looked almost predatory.

"...tell me the holding of  _Brown v. Kendall_. Mr. Simpson? ...Mr. Simpson?"

The blonde man turned around, still clutching Horatio's pen in his hand. "Could you repeat the question?"

Keene scowled at him. "I'd suggest you pay more attention next time. What was the precise holding of  _Brown v. Kendall_?"

Simpson tapped Horatio's pen against the desk. "If beating the dogs was unnecessary, then the defendant had to exercise extraordinary care."

Keene's scowl only deepened. "It would appear that you need to pay more attention to your reading as well, Mr. Simpson; if I had wanted the ruling of the  _trial_ court, I would have asked for it." He consulted his roster, doubtless choosing the next unfortunate victim. "...Mr. Hornblower."

Horatio froze. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him, could feel the intimidating gaze of Keene, even from this far away, burning into him, studying him, waiting for his answer. His worst fears had been realized: cold-called, in his first class. Nausea began creeping over him, twisting his gut. Simpson had turned around to leer at him, twirling his pen between his fingers.

"Mr. Hornblower." Keene was scowling at him now. "We don't have all day."

"Th- The court…" Horatio gulped. "Justice Shaw held that the trial court erred in its instructions to the jury." He paused to take a shaky breath, then continued. "I- In order to recover damages, the plaintiff needed to prove that the defendant's actions were unlawful, careless, or negligent, and that he was not exercising ordinary care."

"And what is the significance of this holding?"

"Um…" Horatio clenched and unclenched his fingers. He felt almost faint. "The case is significant because it marks one of the first appearances of the reasonable person standard in American jurisprudence."

Keene gave him a long, critical look. Then he nodded. "Excellent." He turned around and began writing on the whiteboard. "The idea of the 'ordinary reasonably prudent person' is one of the most important concepts in modern tort law…"

It took Horatio a few seconds before he realized he'd survived. He took a deep breath, and the tension poured out his muscles, his hands flopping at his sides. He felt something hit his arm; Archie was elbowing him, grinning broadly. 'Good job,' he mouthed.

Horatio felt immensely relieved. He'd managed to get through a cold-call without embarrassing himself. And now it would likely be some time before he had to suffer another one. Maybe today wasn't going so badly after all.

He felt a tap on his shoulder; it was Will, reaching around behind Archie, a pen in his hand. Horatio took the pen and looked down at the desk.

Class had been going on for ten minutes, and he hadn't taken any notes.

He started writing furiously, the panic returning. Never mind. Today was still going to be terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if my Spanish is terrible. I'm sure it is, because I had to use Google Translate. Barbara's supposed to be saying, "Sorry, Mateo, I'm busy. Yeah. Of course I miss Ancón (place in Panama). ...And you? Ehh... Okay, bye."


	3. Extracurricular Activities

Will stuffed his books into his backpack, stood up from the small wooden desk, and stretched. He glanced at his watch; 17:30. He'd spent a solidly productive three hours in the library after the end of his last class, and he was starting to get hungry, so it was time to head home.

He was fairly satisfied with how the day had gone, overall. He'd managed to escape being called on, and he felt he had a good enough understanding of the material so far to be able to keep up with his professors' lectures. Even though they'd only had two classes today, there had been an orientation event over lunch where all their professors had said a few words. Keene talked tough, but had a way of explaining things that made complex subjects suddenly seem clear and obvious. Professor Hammond, who would be teaching his Criminal Law class tomorrow, had been a prosecutor for many years and clearly loved the subject. Professor Foster seemed to have an equal passion for Contracts, and for feuding with Hammond. And his Research and Writing professor, James Sawyer, was widely regarded as one of the greatest legal minds on the east coast. Or so Archie had told him, anyway. Though moments like that reminded him that he didn't have the legal connections that many of his classmates did, when all was said and done, he was feeling decidedly better about his chances of getting through the next three years than he had been yesterday.

The law library at Justinian had three floors, and was apparently so popular as a study space that Will hadn't been able to find a free desk anywhere on the first two. He walked through the rows of shelves towards the elevators, then paused as he spotted a familiar face at a desk in the corner. It was Horatio, alternately tapping at his laptop and flipping through one of his textbooks, a slight frown of concentration creasing his forehead. Will would have left him alone, except he looked absolutely terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face looked pale and gaunt. It probably didn't help that he'd been cold-called in both of their classes. His unique name wasn't doing him any favors there. And the second one hadn't gone nearly as well as the first; the poor kid hadn't been able to say a single word to Foster, he'd just sat there looking scared out of his mind.

Will frowned. He could guess that Horatio didn't want to be bothered. And really, they hardly knew each other. He wouldn't want to interrupt his studying.

...Aw, screw it.

He walked over to Horatio's desk. "Archie said our section's having a bar review tonight," he said, too loudly for the library. He lowered his voice slightly. "Are you going to come?"

Horatio blinked up at him, looking slightly dazed. "...What's that?" He blanched. "We're not supposed to be studying for the bar exam already, are we?!"

"No! Don't do that! No, it's, um…" Will wasn't good at lying, but he strongly suspected that if he told the whole truth Horatio would say no. He decided to try spinning it a little bit. "It's a … type of networking event. Lawyers hold them all the time. It's a great way to… make inroads in the local community."

He was sure he wouldn't have fooled a five-year-old, but when he finished Horatio nodded thoughtfully. "That does sound useful," he said. "I suppose I should make some connections..."

Will felt bad. He felt like a high school senior telling a vulnerable, lonely nerd who didn't know any better that his upcoming beer-a-palooza was a costume party so he'd come dressed as a wizard. But this time his intentions were pure. If anything, it would get Horatio out of the library; it didn't seem like he'd been planning on leaving, even at this hour.

"Great!" he said, again a little too loudly. "We'll go together, then. It's in Center City."

"I see." Poor Horatio was probably already picturing some boardroom at Ballard Spahr. "Is it a formal event, or…?"

Will coughed. "No, not at all. Don't worry about it. Just come as you are." He glanced at his watch. "We should leave from the house around nineteen… err, seven-thirty, then."

"Alright." Horatio was already becoming re-absorbed by his work. He didn't even notice when Will said he'd see him later and headed for the elevators.

* * *

Three hours later, the two of them were walking down a thin alleyway, headed for a bar called Rosas. Will was a little skeptical about the place, but if nothing else good came out of this evening, the furious blush that had appeared on Horatio's face when he'd been carded by the man at the door was well worth it.

The bar was dimly-lit, loud, and crowded with people. Most of them were from their class, a few still dressed in their semi-professional first day attire. There was nothing professional about how much some of them were drinking, though. While Will searched for Archie, Horatio cleared his throat. "This isn't a networking event, is it?" he asked, his expression impossible to read.

"Well, technically…" Will's shoulders sagged. "Not in the strictest sense, no."

"Why didn't you just say everyone was going out?"

"I… didn't think you'd come."

Horatio frowned. "...I might have," he muttered. He looked stung. That look was enough to make Will swear to himself that he would never lie to him again.

"Horatio!" That was Archie, from a table near the back of the pub. He waved them over, a big grin on his face. He had a large pitcher of beer and an almost-empty glass in front of him. "I didn't think you'd come!" He indicated the two men sitting next to him. "Dan, Henry, these are my housemates. Horatio, Will, Dan Clayton and Henry Wellard. They're my best friends I just met five minutes ago."

Wellard gave an awkward little wave.

Horatio scowled at Archie and sat down at the table. "Why did you call this a 'bar review?'"

There was something almost diabolical about Archie's grin now. "Because we're lawyers," he said. "And I like puns."

"Great," Will said, taking a seat. "If you'd put that in your advertisement I'd be commuting."

"Who was it that said puns are the lowest form of wit?" Clayton said, looking like he wanted to contribute.

"I don't know, but he's an ignorant swine," Archie said, taking a huge swig of beer. "And he clearly hasn't read Shakespeare."

"Samuel Johnson," Horatio said. "I saw it on Jeopardy."

"Johnson?" Will faintly recalled the name from a long-ago English class. "Didn't he write the dictionary?"

"I don't really know…"

Archie smirked. "Well, that's a pretty boring book. I think it's safe to assume he didn't have a lot of  _pun_  with it."

Horatio stood abruptly. "Thanks for inviting me, Will."

"Sit back down," Archie grumbled. "And let's get some shots over here."

"Best thing you've said so far," Will said with a grin. After a long and stressful day, it would do them all good to have a little fun.

* * *

Four hours later, Horatio glanced over at his companions and decided they'd had way too much fun.

This was their third bar, and god only knew what number drink Archie was on. At the moment, he and Will were caterwauling along with the vapid pop song playing over the bar's speaker system, making utter fools of themselves.

Horatio sighed. The fact that they'd come by subway and thus required no designated driver had initially made it hard for him to justify his sobriety, but by now everyone else was too drunk to notice. Sure, he didn't mind a little buzz now and then, but he never understood how people could possibly enjoy losing all control of themselves like that. It  _terrified_  him.

Will interrupted his thoughts by letting out a roaring laugh. Archie had done something hilarious, apparently. Horatio was still surprised by how strangely charismatic drunk-Will was. He joked and swaggered and blew through every bar they entered like a hurricane. No matter how crowded the venue, Will's booming voice could be heard from every corner. "Hey, H'ratio," he was saying now, looking as though he'd just remembered something. "That girl you sat next to in Torts… d'you know her?"

"Uh, no," Horatio replied, "why?"

"Dunno," Will said, taking a gulp of beer. "Jus' thought she looked familiar somehow…"

"You talkin' 'bout Barb Well'sley?" Archie shouted over the table. "I know her. My dad's friends with her dad." He grinned. "An' her dad is  _Senator_  Well'sley."

Horatio blinked. "What? Really?!" He was surprised he hadn't made the connection sooner; Senator Richard Wellesley had been in the news lately pushing federal prison reform. He grimaced; now he'd really have to watch what he said in class. One wrong word could be conveyed from Barbara to her father, and from there go on to ruin his professional reputation so thoroughly he'd have to practice in Zimbabwe.

Dan Clayton, who along with Henry Wellard was for some reason still hanging around, gave a sudden start and pressed himself against the back of his chair. "Shit, he's here," he muttered, staring towards the doors.

"Who?" Horatio turned to follow his gaze, and saw Jack Simpson enter the bar. He was laughing raucously, and appeared to be swaying a little. Horatio gave a tight-lipped smile. Great.

"Who, though?" asked Wellard, straining to see over the heads of the taller people around him.

"Simpson," Clayton said, quietly, as though afraid someone would hear. "He went to Rutgers same time as me. He's a terrible drunk." There was a strange look in his eyes that gave Horatio pause. He looked… really scared.

Archie whirled around as unsubtly as physically possible. "Hey, isn' tha' the guy who stole H'ratio's pen? For no fuckin' reason?"

"It was a nice pen, that's the reason," Horatio muttered. "Look, Archie, we should probably call it a night."

"Huh? Whyyyy?"

"'Cause you're totally wasted," Will said helpfully, even as he swayed and leaned on Clayton's shoulder. "An' we still have class tomorrow."

"Aw, screw that," Archie slurred, but seemed willing to concede. "...Okay. But only 'cus it's past you kids' bedtimes."

Horatio heard Will mutter "I'm four years older than you" while the two of them waved goodbye to Clayton and Wellard and guided Archie towards the exit. They were almost to the door when Archie slipped away from them and whirled around to confront someone in the bar. "Hey, Simpson! You're a pen-stealing bastard!"

Horatio froze.  _Oh, no._

A few seconds later, Simpson emerged from the crowd. There was a dark look in his eyes. "Who th' hell're you?" he growled.

"A concerned cit'zen," Archie said, swaying.

Simpson caught sight of Horatio and laughed. "Is'sat what this's about? Fuck, man, it wassa joke!"

Horatio grabbed Archie's arm. "Come on, Archie, this is ridiculous. We were just leaving, remember?"

"No way," Simpson said. He stepped forward. "Nobody talks shit 'bout me an' gets away that easy."

Archie looked like the danger was starting to register in his liquor-soaked brain, but he wasn't backing down. "...Oh yeah? Well, nobody messes wi' my friends an' gets away that easy, either."

Horatio blinked. They were friends?

Simpson took another step forward. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet, but that didn't make him any less threatening. "You wanna start somethin'? You don' look so tough - "

"Hey, now." Will calmly stepped in between them. Despite his subdued tone, there was a warning light in his eyes. "Let's not do anything we'll regret tomorrow."

"I regret this  _now_ ," Archie mumbled, low enough that Simpson couldn't hear.

There were a few tense seconds where it seemed like Simpson might argue with Will, but he eventually stepped back, grumbling. "Don' think I'll forget this..."

Horatio hoped he would. With the amount of alcohol that had been consumed tonight, it was definitely a possibility.

He and Will dragged Archie out of the bar and down the street to the subway. As he sat on the train, the scent of piss and Will's whiskey breath in his face, Horatio's thoughts kept returning to the moment when Archie had said they were friends. Certainly, they had to at least tolerate each other since they lived in the same house and had the same classes. But did they really know each other well enough to qualify as friends? Horatio didn't have many of those, and none in the city so far. He didn't think he'd ever had one who would get into a fight for him over a ballpoint pen. Granted, Archie was absolutely hammered. Most likely he wouldn't have done it if he were sober. But it made Horatio feel … nice, all the same.

* * *

The alarm on Archie's phone went off, and the sudden loud noise sent a stab of pain through his head. Archie groaned, turned it off, and slowly rose out of bed, gathering the comforter around him like a cloak. He had probably the worst hangover in human history. Of course, some part of his mind knew that he described every hangover this way, but the other parts were too busy being in terrible agony to pay attention.

He shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. Will was already there; he was, in fact, in the exact same place he'd been yesterday morning, standing in front of the stove with a frying pan full of eggs. Archie stared. "...This is some "Groundhog Day"-level shit," he muttered.

"I wanted eggs, okay?" Will said, squinting a little. He was probably suffering a fate similar to Archie's. "You want coffee?" There was a full pot sitting under the coffee-maker.

Archie shook his head. "No way, that stuff'll dry you out. Trust me. Worst thing you can do with a hangover is get more dehydrated than you already are." He opened the fridge, still clasping the comforter around him. "I'm just here for some orange juice."

He retrieved the carton and a bagel from the fridge, then poured himself a tall glass while he waited for the bagel to finish toasting. He shuffled over to the table and was digging in when Horatio flew into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his boxers. "Is that Old City Coffee™ Riverfront blend?!"

"Uh… yes, actually, help yourself," Will said, staring blearily at this sudden apparition. "How did you…?"

"Oh, um, I can tell coffee brands apart by the smell," Horatio said, already pouring himself a mug. "Thanks." And with that, he flew back up the stairs.

Archie blinked, a couple of times. "...Did that even happen?"

Will just chuckled, shaking his head.

By the time the three of them left the house to start the morning walk to Justinian (together this time), he felt just recovered enough to enjoy the morning breeze. The headache was still there when he sat down for Crim, but it had faded to a manageable dullness which hopefully wouldn't impede his thought process too much.

He sat next to Horatio in this class, too, though here Will was on the other side instead of Barb. That was because she was sitting in the third row with her boyfriend, Percy Leighton. Archie wondered if he should tell Horatio about that, but decided it could wait.

Professor Hammond was at the lectern now, staring around the room with narrowed eyes until everyone quieted down. "Alright, good morning," he said, loudly, his voice carrying across the room without needing a mic. "Welcome to Criminal Law. The most important subject you will ever learn, in my professional opinion." He frowned. "Now, according to school policy, I have to warn you that some of the cases we will be discussing are very disturbing. I also have to remind you that there are counseling services available through Student Health should you require them. Because the higher-ups think you're all pansies, apparently." This netted him a few forced chuckles and some awkward clearing of throats. Hammond shuffled his papers. "Okay, let's start with theories of punishment. ...Mr. Hornblower. What would you say is the main goal of a retributive justice system?"

Archie didn't listen for Horatio's stuttering answer; he was starting to get a weird feeling, like he was being watched. He turned around, ostensibly to look at the clock at the back of the room, and found Jack Simpson staring at him from the back row. There was undisguised malice in the man's eyes; he didn't even flinch or bother to hide his staring when he saw Archie looking at him. In fact, his gaze seemed to harden; there was definitely a hint of a threat in there. Archie was tempted to flip him off, but settled for a brief scowl and baring of teeth before turning back around. He had only a fuzzy memory of what he'd actually said to Simpson last night, but he was sure it hadn't warranted the reaction he'd gotten then, or the glare he was getting now. Still, he didn't need this kind of drama right now. It would be a better idea to just ignore it.

When class ended, Archie packed up his books and made a quick trip to the bathroom; he hadn't completely recovered from his hangover yet. When he exited the stall, Simpson was waiting for him. He was standing in a way that blocked Archie's access to the sinks and the door; essentially, impossible to ignore.

Archie sighed. "Why are you doing this, man? I don't know about you, but I barely even remember what happened. Not a big deal."

Simpson glowered at him with his arms folded. "Okay, sure. Ordinarily, you'd be right. But I looked you up afterwards, out of curiosity. I like to know things about people." He took a step forward. "Nice big multi-million-dollar firm your daddy's got, huh? Nice enough to buy you an admission to his alma mater." He bared his teeth. "That really pisses me off!"

Archie felt heat rising to his cheeks. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about!"

"I think I do," Simpson said. His face was only a few inches away from Archie's now. "Take back what you said."

"Okay, fine."

"And apologize."

Archie glared at him. "Not a chance."

Simpson wasn't a whole lot taller than him, but he loomed. "Then you'll regret it."

Simpson took another step forward, and Archie felt his back bump against the wall. There was a dark look in the other man's eyes, one that seemed to threaten violence. For a moment, Archie froze.

The bathroom door swung open, and Horatio ran inside. Seemingly without noticing Simpson or Archie, he darted into a stall. A few seconds later, the muffled sound of retching could be heard from behind the stall door. Archie's attention was drawn away by his housemate's distress; when he turned back to Simpson, the other man was gone.


End file.
